Banking Blues
by Neocolai
Summary: Steve vs. a Live Teller. There's a reason the caveman haunts ATM's. (No Pairings)


**This was a "SEAL Take-Down" drabble that spun out of control, but I had too much fun mocking bank processes. ;) Have a laugh after the most recent episode!**

**(Neocolai owns nothing. Rather a pity, even the bank money in my imaginary story isn't going to miraculously turn up in my account. Ah well, back to working a real job after this.)**

* * *

Four minutes to 6:00. Danny sighed, bounced back on his heels, and checked his watch again.

"Look, Steve, I'm sure the nice tellers would like to get out in a timely manner for once, and frankly, so would I. We can come back here tomorrow."

Iron fingers clenched around the stupid paper check that the lackadaisical secretary had distributed thanks to some bland excuse about paperwork errors. Danny got one, too. He was just more conservative with his time and had made plans accordingly, thereby depositing it before the 5:30 rush of people dropped in after work.

"Really, Steve, one check isn't gonna disrupt your account," Danny coaxed, looking wistfully at the door, where a Hawaiian evening still held sunlight and a snatch of warm air. "You can buy that fancy toy for your truck or your gun safe tomorrow. Some of those things ship same day, you know?"

"I've been waiting in line for twenty minutes," Steve said stoically. "They can't kick me out once I'm inside."

"No, they can't," Danny acknowledged, "But as you can see, all five people in front of you are merchants. They've got fancy little bags, that means they have multiple deposits, and there's only two tellers, so we're looking at another half-hour - if we're lucky. I don't know about you, but I'd really like to call it a day, find some dinner, maybe spend some time with my daughter..."

Steve cast him an incredulous look. "No one's keeping you here, Danny."

"No, but see, I know the minute I walk out of this branch someone's gonna pull out a gun, or - or there's gonna be a change artist or a money launderer right in front of you and you'll feel compelled to get involved, by which point I will be obligated to return to the bank to rescue them from you because you will still insist on depositing your check while you are holding a criminal in a chokehold, so until you're finished it only makes sense for me to stick around so they don't call for the animal control unit."

His long-winded, poignant reasoning earned him a dubious stare from the weary banker offering the candy dish to the line, and a perturbed look from his partner.

"Danny, they've already locked the doors," Steve argued. "Who would be stupid enough to rob the bank? They're not gonna get anywhere."

"But you see, that is where you are wrong," Danny answered calmly. "Closing hours is the perfect time to take off with the money, because there are fewer people around to ask you questions or mark your description. And they can't lock the doors yet, it's still two minutes to six."

"I'm telling you, they locked the doors the minute you opened your mouth," Steve stated, nodding indicatively to the fraud specialist with the queasy smile who was standing by the entrance, hands folded in pseudo calm.

Danny scowled. "Isn't that illegal? Hours on the door say 10:00-6:00, it's not six o'clock yet."

"Which is exactly why I'm not gonna walk out there and stand in line tomorrow," Steve stressed. "I've got one check. One check. I've been waiting in line for thirty-two minutes."

"Which is why we have direct deposit, we just hit a bad week," Danny soothed, motioning for Steve to take it down a few notches. "Nobody's gonna make you walk out of the line, you just gotta wait your turn. See, only three merchants ahead of you, and - look - only one bag, this next one's gonna be easy."

So he was led to believe, until the leather casing was unzipped and one by one, little clips of paperwork and checks were lined up onto the counter. The teller paled. Steve groaned.

"It's okay," Danny soothed, as the aggrieved commander balled up the check, looking half-prepared to chuck it over the counter. "We still got one more teller out here. Give it ten more minutes, tops. Why don't you read one of those little brochures? There's some nice ones there about small business opportunities, you can educate yourself before you make any more lousy decisions for the restaurant. I can even ask the lovely banker to fetch you some crayons if there aren't enough pictures for you."

"Are you implying that you're an expert in business finances?" Steve quipped, taking the opportunity as the line moved forward to snag one of the brochures and flip it under Danny's nose. "Let's see you scroll through this first. We don't even have a business account!"

"See, that is exactly where you are failing in basic communication and courtesy," Danny said. "I have set three different appointments, with reminders, for you and I to meet together with a banker and create a business account. And you have consistently, irresponsibly disregarded my attempts to begin a secure, necessary implementation for proper tax proceedings and - "

"Danny, I already have an account," Steve insisted, brandishing the crumpled check. "Kamekona isn't investing here, you're not sharing on my paycheck, so why would we need one more financial problem?"

"That is exactly what I've been trying to explain, you caveman undertaker!"

"Undertaker?"

"Yeah, well, anyone who buries a couple grand ought to look into alternative career opportunities. Look, when our restaurant is audited, we need to be able to show them financial statements. Tax forms, investments and expenses, accurate accounts proving that money has come in or gone out based on the business needs! You can't write a check out of your personal checking and cash it out to yourself because you bought a lousy fridge without asking me! Paperwork is protection!"

"You know what paperwork is?" Steve said, slouching up to the counter and batting his check onto the desk. "Paperwork is what keeps innocent people up at night because they have to deal with this kind of nonsense fifteen minutes after closing. If they've got an app for drug cartel, they ought to have a quicker method for deposits."

"Oh, dude," the teller said, wincing in exhausted sympathy as he unwrapped the check. "You totally could have done this through the app."

Steve stopped stone cold. "I'm sorry?"

The teller continued smoothing the check, cringing at the ridges and rumples. "See, it's called mobile deposit. You take a picture of the check and it's made available the next day. Or you could even deposit this at the ATM."

"ATM." Danny huffed softly. "Isn't that where you usually frequent, instead of interacting with real people?"

Steel grey eyes were cold with impending murder. "You're saying I could pull out my phone and deposit this now," Steve stated tonelessly.

"Yup, totally," the fresh-faced kid droned. "Oh, but see, the check hasn't actually been signed by the maker. I'm gonna have to send this back with you, but once it's signed we can deposit it right away. Only keep in mind that Saturday is past cut-off time for Federal processing so it wouldn't show up until Tuesday anyways."

Mouth pressed in a firm, thin line, Steve snatched up the check and stared boorishly at the blank line where the secretary had neglected to sign. Nodding curtly, he spread the paper out, smoothed over the lines, and meticulously folded it into triangles. Daring the teller to object, he whooshed the makeshift airplane over the counter and spun away, stalking for the front door.

"Danny, we're done here," he announced, waving off the mildly apologetic fraud specialist. "I'm telling headquarters to void the check."

"Hey, you know there's a fee to issue you a new one!" Danny called back.

"Then they can bump it over to the next deposit!"

The teller set his teeth anxiously, looking equal parts sympathetic and exasperated with his job. "Sorry," he said blandly, "They should've told you in line. We try to offer online options as an alternative to coming inside the branch. For your own convenience, y'know."

Danny t'ched, indignation boiling past his desire to dash for home. "Look, uh, can I speak to a manager? I think you just broke my partner."

"Oh sure, our branch manager's gone home already, but you can always make an appointment, or call the customer service number on your card," the teller said. His eyes pleaded with Danny to just walk away. "Can I help you with anything else?"

"Uh, yeah." Slapping down his wallet, Danny pulled out his ID and spun it in front of the teller, planting his feet for the long haul. "Actually, now that you mention it, I need to make a withdrawal, a couple cashier checks, and I want to pull a little extra off my credit card, and I need to transfer into my daughter's account. And before you ask, I may have forgotten my debit card, so to avoid fraud, you have to ask me security questions, am I right?"

Spending an evening haranguing the local bank was not on his list of "Ways to Become Memorable on a Small Island." Seeing the light drain from the kid's eyes as he started tap-typing for the first of a half-hour's worth of transactions? Definitely worth the lost time. He only regretted letting Steve slip out the door early. They could've killed another hour by setting up the restaurant's checking account together.


End file.
